Pitch & Pain
by blackvelvet97
Summary: "Oh do not look at me like that Daniella." drawled my nightmare. The dark man leant into the wall merging with the hidden shadows that lay there. Even casually slouched as he was he still loomed above me. I stared at him and fidgeted with my bed sheets. "Pitch just don't. Not tonight. I...I can't take anymore." (M for suggestive themes, mild cursing and scenes of mild torture.)
1. Nightmares

"Oh do not look at me like that Daniella." drawled my nightmare. The dark man leant into the wall merging with the hidden shadows that lay there. Even casually slouched as he was he still loomed above me. Looming with a skilled arrogance I could never achieve, no matter how sophisticated or educated I tried to become. I stared at him and fidgeted with my bed sheets.

"Pitch just don't. Not tonight. I...I can't take anymore." I ducked my head on the last word in shame. This torment had nearly broken me. I felt weak and frustrated. My annoyance stemmed from the fear washing over me in waves. This room, my room, had never seemed so terrifying in the 17 years it had belonged to me. Its narrow walls encroached, compressing the bed, desk, and bookshelves too close together. Everything piled up, beady eyes watched me from the once comforting posters that littered the walls, a few discarded tops created monstrous lumps on the chocolate carpet, a gentle breeze tugged at the loose duvet sheet that hung over the bed, or was something horrible climbing out of the depths there? It was too much. I couldn't breathe. And he was enjoying it.

"Sweetness, we agreed. You signed in blood, don't back out on me now or I might get angry," a long pale finger hooked beneath my chin and gently brought my face back into the dim light of the window. I hadn't even heard him move.

"I just can't. Please Pitch, I promise I'll do it tomorrow. Not tonight, not now." His face was inches from mine, schooled in a small frown. My heart hammered at his closeness. Pepper, darkness and fear invaded my nostrils. I couldn't help but fill my lungs with the heady scent, the dreams I could deal with, but this sinful aroma was pure torture. It reminded me of the night terrors, specifically the end part. The part where Pitch, upon receiving enough fear to keep him satisfied, would stroll into the dream and make the monsters go away. The part where he would smile crookedly at me and take me in his arms. The part where I would lose myself. He crouched beside the bed with a sly grin plastered across his pale face. Damn stupid bastard.

"I thought you liked me." his grin grew devilish and he leant closer. What in the name of God do I say to that? 'No Pitch, I think your an arrogant prat who needs to learn how to treat a girl, piss off' and risk never seeing my demon again? That's what he was. A demon. I knew he fed off all the bad things in the world, just because he could. That he curdled the sweet dreams of innocent children to find fulfilment. And worst of all, delighted in terrifying all he knew. I was beyond caring though, too many nights with the fateful dream embrace and I already longed for him. I wasn't stupid, nor did I want to lose him.

"O..of course I like you. You're my friend." By the way his expression changed I knew the words had been wrong. He pounced on me and pinned my small frame to the bed. His cold hands wrapped around my wrists tightly and secured them above my head, forcing me to lie back on the soft pillows. He followed me down. The fear I had momentarily forgotten curled in my stomach, at this close range he could terrorize me with a night terror of colossal proportions. I wasn't prepared, I couldn't think. Usually he would let me steel myself for the night ahead but his pepper scent overwhelmed my senses. All around me was Pitch, I couldn't find my room, or feel my bed beneath me. It was only Pitch and his delicious lips hovering centimetres above mine, his deep eyes burning through me. My body was on fire yet his gaze paralysed me, leaving me charring in the flames. I was caught in smouldering pools of Amber, lost entirely to him.

"Friend? Do friends usually plague one another's dreams?" His mouth ghosted over mine, head finding solace in the crook of my neck where he planted a single lingering kiss. I let out a breathy moan and frantically arched my back. His hold remained firm, not allowing a shred of air to come between us, to my dismay my body remained strained against the bed. I was so sure we could be closer, I wanted him closer. My brain was muddled, coherent thought became difficult as his tongue lazily drew circles in the hollow of my throat. His oppressive darkness enshrouded me and I willingly accepted it, everything that was Pitch I wanted.

A hazy thought ambled through my mind. "You dream of me?" My voice was husky and deep, it cracked at the end and I fought to push his head up into my line of sight. I needed to see him. His eyes would hint as to his mood, any words from his mouth were most likely lies. He stopped his ministrations and lifted his beautiful face to mine. His usual pallor was flushed, the only clue as to the effects this conversation had taken on him.

"Princess, who wouldn't?" He growled into my cheek and nipped at my chin, leaving tiny bite marks along my jaw. They throbbed gently, the pain more pleasurable than any kiss his lips could leave there. My toes curled and I whimpered. Oh god. This was heaven. I could feel the cold fear that twisted in my stomach, not of monsters or night terrors, but that he would leave and I would be left empty. I needed him, I wanted him, I was his.

"Pitch." I murmured his name without thought, at that his grip on my wrists tightened. He had never done this before, he'd teased me but never had I thought his intentions would be so sinful. He kissed his way across my face, tasting the skin and leaving more throbbing pink marks. Too slow. I turned my head and caught his lips. His whole body froze, going taut above me. I paid no heed to his restraining arms and stretched up to him, my tongue demanding entrance, desperately trying to dip past his lips.

It was like kissing a stone sculpture. Everything frozen and cold, bar the killer scent overwhelming me. He tasted of bitter chocolate and a tinge of pepper, the delicious concoction was over laced with fear. Oh yes, my beautiful Boogeyman could feel fear. I was not afraid, my hormonal teenage brain struggled to cope with more than one emotion at any one time. Lust overpowered most others, even fear, so it had to be him. Why he was scared at this precise moment I didn't know, but all I wanted was to soothe away the nasty emotion.

Slowly he became reanimated, parting his lips with a shaky breath. I dove into his mouth and carefully explored every crevice. For the most part he was passive and allowed my velvet tongue to caress his, but whilst he had been distracted his death lock on my wrist had loosened and I managed to slide one wrist free. It immediately locked in his silky black hair, yanking him flush against my chest. He gasped into my mouth and released my other arm, instead scrunching his hands into my messy bed sheets. It was glorious.

My newly free hand slid under his robe and clutched at his chest, a dark top hid his bare skin from me. How bloody irritating. My hand trailed down his side and slipped under the tight fabric. He shivered into me at the contact. Not yet satisfied I moulded myself as close to his as possible. He weighed more than I would have thought- it made him so tangible, so real. My real life nightmare. The sensation thrilled me.

But it wasn't enough.

I wriggled my legs out from beneath his, wrapping them around his waist. Pitch's hips bucked a little and he closed his eyes. My flimsy nightie did very little to maintain my dignity, it rode provocatively up my thighs, bunching at the middle.

I deepened our kiss and Pitch groaned into my mouth. His tongue flicked back and forth, dancing elaborately. I swooned with the passion of our heated embrace. He seemed to regain some form of control and began a fierce battle for dominance within the kiss. I could never win an argument against him. Not once. Pitch liked to play dirty, this time was no different. His black nightmare sand slipped around my throat and tightened painfully. One of his hands tangled into my straight brown hair and fisted at the roots. Soon the already strenuous battle for air became too tiring.

He continued his heated attack, my limbs weakened for lack of oxygen. I tried to push him off, to tell him to loosen the hold, but the minute my arms surfaced from beneath his top Pitch snarled. Another tendril of black sand snaked around my arm and shackled me to the bed. The dirty grit sank into my skin, he didn't care for me, he was simply using me for his own ends. I was an ugly girl-who would want to kiss that. I stopped pulling him closer and tried scraping the sand off with my other hand, knowing it to be the source of the new humiliations.

The shadows engulfed my arm and forcefully thrust it to other side of the bed, a punishing snap ricocheted through the room and red hot fire shot through my arm. I screamed into the Nightmare King's mouth and kicked him off me.

I heard a thump as he hit the floor, silence filled the room but for my cries. Why would he do this to me? I'd never experienced a pain like this before, never. It felt as though my arm had been sliced open and set alight. I looked at it through watery eyes. Red.

He'd hurt me.

A cruel chuckle sounded from the shadows. I frantically turned my head to find him but the sound seemed to come from all around. The sand slunk down my body, tickling and burning as it went. I writhed in pain and screamed. It made no difference, the chuckle merely grew louder and the nightmares stronger. Soon I was cocooned and forced it to lie still. I was trapped.

"Oh Daniella, did you really believe I wanted you?" The sand covered my mouth and twisted my head to the right. He stood towering over me smirking. The shadows in the room seemed to shrink away from him, the light cowered in the corner. Beware the Nightmare King bellowed his aura. Fear me little girl. Fear everything that you believed to be me. I am so much more. FEAR ME!

I was terrified.

He drew out a long blade from his robes and played with it loftily. A chill crept down my spine as the nightmares helpfully supplied images of the many things that Pitch could do to me with it. The blade was long and curved, the silver teeth grinned at me lined with a black metal rim. The handle had been ornately carved with ancient symbols, to me it looked like the language of fear itself. Each tooth had been sharpened to a razor point.

"No one will miss you dear. No one even likes you." He laughed. "You were so desperate that you befriended the king of the Nightmares. It's pathetic." My eyes welled and I began to cry. He stooped low, dangling the dagger in front of me. A soft hand stroked my face.

"Oh darling, did I upset you?" His beautiful amber eyes grew deathly cold. I couldn't miss the hatred blatantly shown in them. He scraped his nails along my cheek, leaving ruby droplets in their wake.

"Good." He plunged the blade into my stomach, the shadows frantically weaved out of the way. Agony ripped through my body and I screamed into the restraints. Blood sprayed along the wall as he twisted the knife viciously with both hands. I couldn't breathe. Pain was everywhere. Pain and Pitch. I convulsed, screaming hoarsely and the bonds tightened even further. The pain was all consuming but I couldn't move, I couldn't even breathe. The black sand held me so tightly that I couldn't flex a single muscle.

Pitch's voice sounded clearly through the fire.

"You disgust me."

I woke up in my bed panting, drenched in sweat and alone. My hand slid to my stomach. No stab marks, no blood. I threw the covers off the bed and flew across to my desk, scrambling for the glass of water that sat there. I tried to stop the cries that came out of my mouth, water splashed onto my nightie as my hand shook.

Just a nightmare.

Only a nightmare.

Pitch Black, the Boogeyman, King of Nightmares. He isn't real. He's just a bad dream. I hiccupped and placed the glass back on the desk, switching on a lamp.

Oh god.

My wrists were purple and blue. Black sand was stuck to the sweat on my skin. It meant that...it meant that he had to be... I sank to the floor and cried.

Pitch Black was the Boogeyman, King of Nightmares and he was real.

_**Hello kind reader who clicked on my story. I didn't want to get in the way at the beginning so here is the longish author note. I saw Rise of the Guardians when it first came out and since then have watched it three times. I am obsessed. This was originally going to be a Jack Frost story and I hope it still will be, but Pitch just kind of jumped in like-BOOM WRITE ME! **_

_**Apologies for any grammar or spelling mistakes. Feel free to alert me, anything to make it read better. (Also is that the correct spelling of Boogeyman?)**_

_**Drop a review my lovelies!**_

_**Blackvelvet97**_

_**xx **_


	2. Failures

Pitch flew through the air jumping from roof to roof with a feline grace. Even in the dawn of the dying darkness he felt free, her fear coursed through his veins pumping strength to his limbs. The rooftops felt it, the shadows felt it, even dear old Moonface felt it. He was powerful. Everything shrunk away from him. The clouds shivered, the wind whimpered, the trees screamed into the sky, unable to move from their anchored roots. He stopped at the edge of a roof and curled into a hunter's crouch, eyes surveying the scene below.

Frost's pet child was sitting on his porch bundled in layers of knitwear. Pitch commanded the shadows to conceal him. They obeyed, a further sign of his growing power. The Boogeyman grinned. It wasn't enough to terrify the children, not yet, but it sparked a tiny morsel of a thought, a plan. On impulse he flung his arms out in front of him, robes billowing and summoned the shadow sand. It hadn't worked since they had squashed him, the infuriating band of freaks hiding beneath the title Guardians. But tonight, after Daniella's exquisite dosage of fear, he had a giddy sensation in his stomach that encouraged reckless behaviour.

A year of battling his owns fears, trying to regain control and master the sand had left the bitter taste of failure in his mouth. This boy below him, sighing and kicking his feet, was the reason behind that embarrassment. Hatred rolled through his body, shaking him with its power. He wanted this boy to fear, to weep day and night with the scale of his terror. Oh, it had been quite a while since he had promised such a scare to one so young. Pitch stood, abandoning the shadows to place all concentration on creating a nightmare to rival all his previous creations.

"Come to me my demons, come and play." He whispered into the ageing night. Euphoria swelled through his being as the familiar cold crept down his arms. He lolled his head back and sighed, once more feeling the fears of the surrounding creatures course through his mind. A college student worried about her schoolwork, a father who couldn't make the rent this month, a criminal on the run from the police. He drank it all in and closed his eyes, swaying on the roof. He became progressively light headed, the drug of fear ran in his blood. Too long he had gone without it. The sensation mesmerised him.

A large spike of fear drew his attention. It tasted of self-doubt, attachment issues and a hysterical imagination. The sand began to materialise at his fingertips and lean towards the delicious flavour. He had forgotten how addictive the pull of a child's fear could be. He sniffed the air, savouring the delight of the seductive scent. Pitch's eye flashed open, zeroing in on the unfortunate object of his newly found powers.

The boy.

"Well this is just perfect." He leant forward to pounce on the boy, amassing his shadows in his hands, draining himself of all power with the force of the Nightmare. A droplet of sweat snaked down his forehead, mixing with the rain that had begun to pelt the Nightmare King. One thought remained in his mind.

Make the boy suffer.

The sky began to rumble, lightening flashed across the sky as the clouds desperately tried to flee. The child remained on the porch despite the heavy lashings of rain begging him to move. Pitch smiled cruelly, entirely focused on the irritating now-soaked midget. He released the entourage of black sand and let his wrathe be felt.

The boy turned slightly at the screaming of the sand hurtling towards him. The mass of shadow took no form, merely a wave of smoke and nightmare. His eyes widened and he through an arm up over his face in a pathetic attempt to protect himself. Pitch laughed and spurred the shadows on, they would devour his childish happiness and sour his dreams for the rest of his miserable existance. Oh the power he felt, the beauty of it, the pure undiluted vengence he felt as the shadows barrelled towards the tiny human.

Just as they struck a loud exploision echoed through the sky, splintering the nightmares and blasting them back towards Pitch. He leapt off the roof narrowly missing the armegeddon of his own making. The sky crashed and shook as he dusted himself off and strode through the smoke tendrils that remained. If he couldn't reach the boy at a distance he would strangle the fear down his throat with his bare hands whilst he stood in front of him.

A tree fell to the floor and crashed across the road towards Pitch, with a wave of his hands he flung it into the sky using the idiotic fear that the humans in the surrounding buildings housed for the storm. It arched through the air, unintentionally soaring towards the child's house. Pitch's eyes widened.

"No!" Pitch yelled out. A cold fear pierced his heart, he wanted the boy to suffer emotionally, not physically. He sprinted along the gravel of the road at the giant spear of an oak tree. It was too far away, tumbling through the air at the speed of a small jet plane. He skidded to a stop and bellowed a primal scream raising his arms menacingly.

"HEAR ME SHADOWS OF THE NIGHT! DO MY BIDDING!" he reached deep within and pulled all of his fears into his desperate cry. The darkness could not refuse or the boy would die. He would not let that happen. He was no child murderer! Pitch summoned his own demons arms waving frantically to surround the house in a shield of shadows. Every inch of the house's dark armour was a new razor blade plunged into his skin, his pain solidified. Instantly the wails of the small female who lived with her brother could be heard, his nightmare barricade having already affected the inhabitants. Through the turmoil of the tempest Pitch could see the boy's eye widened in shock. He clutched a wooden post of the porch staring at him in awe. He yelled something to his left but Pitch didn't have the time or brainpower to even try and comprehend it.

It wasn't enough. His shadows would break when the wooden torpedo hit. His knees buckled at the weight of his personal demons and he cried into the sky. He dragged the newest fear to the surface. Daniella. He feared his feelings for her. He feared that he had pushed her too far. He feared that she had a deeper hold over him than any before her. He feared that if she knew he caused this child to die that she would hate him more than before. He feared that he no longer messed with her because she was the only one to see him. He feared, after all he had done to her, that he would be rejected.

"NO!" Tears streamed down his cheeks as he pushed the newest cold fear into the shield. This hurt him more than any of the other fears. The storm kicked up a notch, the wind howled and the moon watched in horror as the tree broke the shadow shield. Pitch fell to the floor as his insides twisted with the shadow before him. He screeched in pain as the shadow shattered into a million pieces and shot back into him, each new strand sliced into his skin, drawing black blood. He wept under the onslaught, for the pain of it and the failure of his fear that had cost the life of a child.

The tendrils whipped his skin, flaying him raw. He put up no defence, he wanted to be gone, destroyed. The one thing he said he'd never do, he'd done. The one thing that stopped the overwhelming evil from ruling his life, his promise to never physically harm a child, had been broken. The shadows wrapped around his lithe form and squeezed, shrieking at him and snapping his bones like twigs. His body contorted and bent into unnatural shapes, bringing new rounds of tears to his eyes. Black blood streamed from his mouth in the midst of nightmares forcing their way down his throat. He choked on all his failings and fears, feeling the last moments of his eternal life force trickling away. Even immortals could die, especially when they no longer had anything tying them to life.

Daniella.

Pitch thought of her in his last breath; of the way she plaited her hair, the way she kissed him-like he was her reason for existing, of the way her cheeks dotted with dimples when she smiled. The final pain ripped through him and stole his final short breath, along with the visions of his lovely Daniella. A cold blue light filled his vision, if this was hell then so be it, he deserved that much. The pain intensified with the blue light, and forced Pitch to pull in another drag of air, prolonging the inevitable for a few seconds longer. The cold surrounded him and froze his wounds, it numbed his broken spine and soothed to the point of pain his bleeding broken body.

He closed his eyes and let the devil take him. He knew that the demon was meant to be cruel and punishing but fooling him into relaxing was surely too depraved for one such as he. He could almost feel Daniella's soft hands caressing his cold cheek. Something cold tickled his chin and his ear. It couldn't be could it? She usually felt so warm, perhaps it was a ghost echo of her embrace. This thought hurt more than his injuries. He silently cursed the devil for his sadistic apparitions, Daniella would never willingly hold him, he always had to trick her. He hated the savage barbarity with which the Devil teased.

Something wrapped itself around his body, constricting all movement. Hilarious, the angel of death was mimicking his early actions against Daniella.

"Oh no you don't you Pitch. I saw what you did. You tried to save Jamie. You don't get to just die after that." Pitch prayed that the insolent tones his ears were detecting were not coming from who he thought they were. If he was indeed mistaken about the angel of death having come to collect him then, by some wicked twist of fate, he seemed to have landed himself in the arms of none other than the repulsively pure Jack Frost. He twitched open one eye to find the mischievous winter spirit inches from his face, an expression of concern plastered across his irritating features.

Jack smiled and Pitch felt the need to hit him until the aggravatingly affectionate expression was wiped from his idiotically happy face.

"You're alive!" Jack exclaimed, delicately lowering Pitch to the ground then wiping his brow in mock relief. Pitch groaned, his day just kept getting worse. The teen had been surprisingly gentle with him, only jousling his body a little in the effort to lay him on the floor. Pitch concluded that his wounds must have partially healed. He flexed his muscles and was immediately winded by the pain that swept over him.

"Oh yeah, don't do that. You took quite a beating." The annoying face appeared back in his line of vision as Jack floated above him, once again concerned. The numbing cool of the spirit's skin had acted as pain relief, and now, without it, the fire that consumed his limbs was ineffable. Snowflakes licked his wounds, only further heightening the heat with the contrast in temperature. He remembered the cool sensations of Daniella's ghost hands and made the link grimacing. It meant that Frost had seen him cry. He suddenly couldn't meet the young Guardian's eyes.

Jack must have understood the chagrin crossing the Nightmare King's face as he twirled around to face Jamie, settling for a more comfortable position-sitting crossed legged on the blanket of newly fallen snow. He nodded at the kid who bounded forward clutching a blanket in his arms. Pitch heard his approach and turned his head in disbelief.

The child was alive?

"Will he be ok?" Jamie scuffled over and stood warily for a moment behind his best friend, looking at the Boogeyman dubiously. Jack smiled and swung his staff over Pitch's body, motioning around whilst sending a chilly wind over his wounds. Pitch relished the dulling effect on his wounds, watching the child with vague interest.

"What-this guy? He'll be just peachy," Jack paused for a moment, "once he learns not to get into fights with trees without backup." Pitch frowned, obviously the Guardian had lived up to his title in this instance and saved the boy from a nasty fate in some daring act of heroics. Jamie giggled and crept forward cautiously. He sat down a few feet away from Pitch's splayed robes and carefully placed his bundle on the floor.

"I...I..." he turned to Jack for support who nodded once more, "I thought you'd be cold so I grabbed a few things to make you feel better." The words left his the child's mouth in a flurry after the initial stumbling, and before Pitch could protest a soft blanket had been flung over his body. The little boy had snuck up to his head, lifted it deftly and gently placed a pillow beneath it. The blasted boy's attempts to help merely aggravated his wounds and blocked the blessed cool of the snow.

"Get off me" hissed the Nightmare King. The boy's eyes widened in fear, he turned on his heel and ran at Jack. Pitch was furious that this insignificant weakling had the audacity to try and help HIM. Who did this child think he was? With a great amount of effort he flipped himself onto his feet and threw the disgusting gifts of kindness to the floor in contempt. Pain jarred his movements but he did not let it show. He held his head high and sneered at the two boys.

"Now now Pitch, that's not very nice." Jack was leant casually on his wooden staff, not at all worried at his old enemies outburst. Jamie on the other hand looked terrified, he clung to Jack's hoody from behind for all his worth.

Pitch wobbled slightly and cursed himself. The snow was falling fast and hard, almost obscuring him from sight. It was making him even more light headed, merely standing was causing all sorts of pain. Jack started forward, moving to help him but before he could reach him the weakened villain disappeared into the shadows.

"Leave me be" ghosted Pitch's voice quietly through the storm. Jamie whimpered and hugged into Jack again. The spirit glanced around fruitlessly, calming the snow to look for him but Pitch was long gone.

"Well, we'll see about that." Frost grinned happily and led the boy inside passing the semi-frozen remains of a shattered oak tree scattered across the front lawn.

Pitch watched from the shadows, stifling groans of pain. He needed to heal. He needed to hide. There was only one place he knew of that he could go, his lair having been almost destroyed last year. He turned to the rapidly lightening street and began dragging his aching body to Daniella's. He needed her now. All Pitch could do was hope she'd be willing to help.

_First of, thank you to Emma L for that amazing review. It left me smiling all day to the point where strangers gave me funny looks for grinning like an idiot. Needless to say I LOVED IT and it spurred me on to write this chapter. Also thanks to Frostbitten Snowdrift for favouriting! _

_Secondly, I decided to introduce Jack. TA DAA. I just love his character in the film._

_Third and finally, I realise that aside from "brown hair"and "small frame" there is no description of Daniella yet. Just hang on for a few chapters and i'll have her all sorted and properly described (poor faceless girl.) _

_Thanks for reading!_

_Blackvelvet97_

_Xx_


	3. Breaking Point

I brushed out my long hair and looked around my bedroom. It was late morning, nearly 11, though this lie in was more to keep up appearances than for actual sleep. Dark circles lined my eyes, my face looked jaunt in the mirror that sat on my writing desk. Saturdays were usually the best days of the week, but recently they had turned out to be the worst. It was the day of relaxation, partying and mind numbing thoughts, yet since my Nightmares had grown more and more realistic all it seemed I could do was think of him. Lazy day's idle thoughts turned to Pitch, killing me slowly with the battle of it.

Reality or dream? Fear or compassion? Lust or... I shook my head it was impossible to even possibly conceive a notion so ridiculous. My pale green room reflected how I felt. It's sickly pallor mirrored the twisting sensation in my stomach. I couldn't breathe properly, my contemplations seemed to squeeze the air from my body, leaving me struggling to get a proper lungful. My eyes fluttered in panic and I threw the hairbrush across the room. It made a loud bang, chipping paint onto my chocolate carpet.

I jumped at the noise and shook my head. Moisture began leaking from my eyes, I rubbed them furiously. I couldn't cry again; surely I had run out of tears? I closed my eyes, needing to calm my frantic nerves. My family was out, there was no one to comfort me within the near facility. I always sounded horrifically pathetic over the phone when I was upset, which ruled out friends. A sharp pain exploded in my chest, my pride screaming to correct the Nightmares enforced on me mere hours ago. I did have friends, and many friends at that. My Nightmare had been wrong, maybe it meant it hadn't really happened?

I chuckled without mirth. The throbbing bruises on my wrists and numerous humiliating love bites that littered my throat screamed otherwise. On sensation alone, my hands traced patterns over the darkened skin as I relived the harrowing moments after waking from the dream. It was a blur of crying, scrubbing my skin raw in the shower to rid myself of the nightmare sand, dotted with an alarming amount of salacious thoughts. I sickened myself with the realisation. This was not natural. I was sick, broken. But what to do? If you became addicted to cigarettes you could at least stop buying them and rid your system of the nicotine. No human can go without sleep indefinitely and his poison called to my blood in the most primal of ways. I couldn't detox from fear.

I still wanted him. He'd hurt me and I still craved his arms, his teasing, his pain. It couldn't last, he would break me permanently if I stopped fighting, but when you felt like one person was your entire world I supposed that was a decision you had to make. I would die without him, he would kill me if I had him. I was doomed either way. To hell with the consequences. I was not weak minded, I would have him if it was the last thing I did. If he wanted a friend, I would be there, if he needed a confidant, I would listen. If he craved a servant, I would serve. But my heart was off bounds.

The room grew cold. The sound of birds outside faded away leaving just the sharp, short rustle of my breathing. My head swam as a shot of adrenalin fried my circuits. It was the natural response the human form gave when instinct told you to flee, that something was nearby that could hurt you. My heart thumped loudly. I knew this feeling. My eyelids slowly flickered open. The sight before me sent shivers down my spine.

Pale amber eyes drilling into mine, a dark figure leaning heavily on the door, wobbling slightly. His usual dark robes seemed almost grey in the daylight, his nearly luminous pale skin was damp with sweat. He had never looked so fragile. His sharp face was arranged almost sorrowfully in a yearning expression, silently asking for help. I stared at my beautiful, broken Nightmare and quivered. The harsh light of day cast odd shadows on the crumpled King. If I had continued doubting his existence, forgoing the bruises with white lies, blinding myself to the impassioned marks then this evidence in the morrow sun would have convinced me. I swallowed dryly and raked my eyes down his person, dark ebony black stains marked his sickly skin, often accompanied by deep cuts. His hair was dirtied and dark, bruises and sharp tiny scratches made a mess of his handsome face. He looked as though he been hit by a truck travelling at high speed. Repeatedly.

He hung back in the shadows, waiting for the high pitched scream that he deserved. But how could I even consider turning him away in this state? The man who had haunted my dreams for the past year had never seemed so fragile. He needed me. I stood up on shaky legs and moved to him, stopping a few feet away from his broken body. His eyes widened, nose and brow crinkling as he turned his head slightly. I placed a finger on his cracked lips, silencing any protests. Tears welled in my eyes, he was even worse close up.

I would kill someone for this, mark my words.

"Is it that terrible?" he murmured playfully around my finger. The moment for me to reject him had passed. He knew it, I knew it. It was now or never. Accept Pitch and the turn my life would take if I allowed myself to believe his existence. Well, he didn't know that he was five minutes too late for that decision. I'd already chosen him.

I smiled weakly and nodded, not trusting my voice. He brought his right arm and pushed my hand to his cheek, covering it with his own. I leant into him, cautious of his wounds. His other arm slunk tightly around my waist, pulling me closer. Our limbs tangled in one another and for a moment I thought we were going to have a soft moment. My heart thumped loudly as I oh so carefully placed a single kiss on his collarbone, much like last night.

In an instant the situation changed. Pitch swung me round, switching our positions. My body was shoved roughly into the door, the lower coat hooks digging into my back painfully. I tried pushing him off but even weakened I was no match for him.

"Don't do that!" he hissed into my ear, grabbing both my wrists and locking them above my head with one hand. A dull throb from my previous bruises reared its head. His breath tickled my exposed neck sending shivers down my back. He was so powerful. I glanced at his arms, the usual shirt hung in tatters flaunting his muscular battered arms. My breath hitched. Bad Daniella. Not a useful time to think about what he could do with those strong, toned...I turned back to him and threw my head forward, needing his lips.

I was too slow. His hand snapped up to my throat and pushed me back. Once again he began choking me. Did the fucker have a thing for it? I laughed around the hold, amazed at how brazen my thoughts had become. His amber eyes widened in shock. It did nothing to help my giggles. A small part of my brain recognised that I was slightly hysterical. I'd been pushed too far. But currently, with the Nightmare King between my thighs, who the hell cared?

His grip loosened, face contorted with confusion. He began to untangle himself but I was having none of it. Where had my ferocious Boogeyman gone? I smiled coyly and wrapped my legs around Pitch's hips, squeezing hard. He gasped and fell against the door, jerking the coat hooks deeper into my back. I hissed in pain, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood. He looked up into my manic eyes releasing my wrists. I doubt he could have withdrawn now if he tried. I launched my arms towards his neck as soon as they were freed and wrenched myself up to his lips. It was neither graceful nor elegant and resulted in an awkward shuffle up the door. My lust for him defying gravity itself.

Pitch also seemed forgetful. Gone was the broken man, his wounds and worries consigned to oblivion. There was only me and Pitch's hands on my body, following the arch of my back and curve of my bum. I needed him, and I needed him now. He moaned as I wiggled and ground against his growing excitement. His mouth was by my cheek yet we had not yet kissed. Why had we not kissed? I tightened my thighs and shoved my chest into his, eliciting another groan. Where had his god damned mouth gone?

I shrieked in pleasure as a delicious sensation answered my unspoken question. Pitch had collapsed into his favourite nook in my neck, licking the day-old love bites. Each caress of his tongue sparked beautiful jolts of fire, a teasing pain. I squirmed and gasped against his body, rocking to an unidentifiable beat. Sweat trickled down my back as the drumbeat of my heart rocketed in my ear. God, I wanted him. I wanted him so much that it hurt. I fumbled for his shirt, almost tearing it from his body. I huffed in annoyance when no amount of tugging could pull the blasted material away. It was stuck between our bodies.

"Honey, help me!" He froze again, abandoning the gorgeous nips of his tongue to look at me in wonder. Frustration was over ruling everything. Why the hell had he stopped! I grabbed a clump of hair and scrunched my hands into it, need paved over any concern of hurting him. I pulled his head roughly back to my neck but he refused, muscles taut. Fine, no one was to stay I wasn't open to compromise. I launched myself at his lips and hummed happily when they met with a dirty squelch. Blood and pepper. I wasted no time, demanding entrance with rough probes.

Pitch remained distant, allowing me to work off my steam without actively participating. No matter how hard I kissed, or how much I bounced on him he merely stood there, holding me. It made me so freaking mad! I stopped and swiftly unhooked my legs, sliding down the wall a little. He let me. I grabbed his robe and pulled him to me again,with our heights uneven he had to bend down quite a bit. I kissed him hard but he didn't reciprocate. For fuck's sake!

I sighed in irritation and looked into his eyes. He looked at me with a slight awe, like I had just sprouted wings unceremoniously. "Kiss me" I demanded with a hungry grunt. He came close and gave me a small gentle kiss on the lips, his arms encircling me like I was fine china. Normally I would have been weak at the knees but this was not what I wanted. Was this all the Nightmare King had? As soon as I tried to deepen the kiss he broke away with a kind smile. What the actual hell?

"Kiss me properly." I bucked my hips against his. Pitch removed himself from me altogether. It infuriated me. Before I could do anything he picked me up carefully and lowered me onto the bed. Ah this was more like it. He needed to do something to sate the heat building at my centre or I could possibly die. Instead of jumping on me he placed a single kiss on my sweaty forehead.

"I'm sorry Princess. This isn't going to work anymore." I gaped at him. No. What? He can't just do that. If the bugger thought he could just swan in whenever he felt and then just shut me out then he had another thing coming. I tried wrapping my legs around his but he caught my thigh and firmly pushed me back to the bed.

"Stop it! I know you want me- why not just take me! That's what you do isn't it?" I shouted at him, hurt that he didn't want me. Hurt that he'd changed me and was now trying to dump me. Didn't like what he saw? Well that was grimaced slightly and moved across the room. I sat up and screamed in anger, throwing a pillow into his back.

"What Pitch-don't like me anymore? Now that I don't care whether I live or die?" He spun round, anger flashing in his eyes.

"Don't say that!" he spat at me, all venom. I laughed in his face with a twinge of madness.

"Oh sorry _darling_," I lowered my voice condescendingly, "prefer your girls scared stiff do you?" He sighed and moved to hold me. "No stay right there you twisted little prick. YOU DONT WANT ME!" I shrieked in his face, barely containing the tears. He reached for me as I broke down in front of him. My vision blurred as I shook.

"Daniella" he cooed but I slapped his arms away. I couldn't see him anymore, the tears had become a fountain from my eyes. I didn't know what he wanted from me. I thought giving in would make it different but now he was being...nice? I couldn't bear it. Having your soul trampled on by an evil dictator drunk on fear was acceptable-but this, this meant that I was just weak. I could be ruled by an evil madman, but I didn't want a sweetheart. He could have my heart, but not like that. That was never meant to happen. He couldn't possibly expect me to survive both.

"Just g..get out. GET OUT!" I curled into a ball and cried. I didn't know how long I cried for but when I next opened my eyes the room was empty. Somehow this made things even worse. I grabbed the discarded pillow and sobbed into it. What had just happened?

_Hello again! Thanks to IndigoMona, vixen1991, InLoveWithSongs and andimint18 for the follows and favourites! _

_And seeing as I forgot before, I suppose I ought to say that despite much crying and begging I do not own ROTG nor the characters in it. Only poor Daniella who I'm slowing driving mad. XD_

_Next chapter will be Daniella meeting Frost, ooh eck. Oooooor, Pitch explaining stuff. If you guys, you know maybe left a review or something (*sneaky wink*) I may just write and post both. _

_Blackvelvet97_

_Xx_


	4. Everybody has bad days

Sometimes being a guardian was fun. Like mega super fun. You got to play around with children all day, physically manipulate the elements (well he supposed only really ice, water and wind counted in that respect), but most of all, he'd gained a family. That sat extremely well with Jack, he liked the feeling of having people to call his own. Sure, it was a little unconventional to have a big Russian, a hybrid bird-woman, a kangaroo and a narcoleptic golden sprite as family members, but he'd never been happier. Jack was on cloud nine.

The thing was though, even on the brightest days there had to be a little shadow. He'd long since accepted that. It just so happened that today's shadow was a big-un.

Jack had left Jamie's house at noon feeling slightly awkward. The whole situation with Pitch left him speculating whether the guy had put on a front the year before, and in turn whether the Guardians had taken the right course of action. After he'd taken the kid inside they'd been casually discussing the Nightmare King, lounging across the couch. All of a sudden the door bell had gone. Man, Jack had never seen a boy move so fast in his entire life. Jamie had sprinted to the door, wrenched it open and then started stuttering. Safe to say it was over a girl.

The next hour and a half had passed in a doe-eyed blur. Jamie and this new girl, Isobel, were glued to one another. Even Jack's most exciting winter tale had not captured the pair's attention. It was strange. Jamie'd had friends round before and they had been delighted to meet him, asking him questions with eyes the size of saucers. But this girl only vaguely acknowledged his existence. Despite 300 years of non-communication, he could still tell when people wanted some alone time. They may have been barely out of diapers, but he knew the beginnings of a romance when he saw it. It would probably just take them twenty years to figure it out.

The Winter Spirit had made some noncommittal excuse about a snowstorm in the northern hemisphere and had slunk away from the gooey puppy dog scene. He'd not gotten far before the hollow feeling in his stomach made him sit on a nearby park bench. And so the pity party had begun.

Now, twenty minutes and a snowball attack on a grumpy jogger later Jack had reached three very depressing conclusions. Number one, he could count his number of friends on his fingers, (including Pitch which in itself was mildly disheartening.) Number two, he was the spirit of fun, yet was apparently unable to bring himself cheer. Number three, Jamie had a girlfriend and Jack did not. Obviously, being invisible to anyone over the age of twelve really put a dampener on any relationships prospects. It was incredibly hard to have a conversation with any beautiful women when they couldn't actually hear you.

Jack sat back against what he now dubbed 'his bench' and sulked. A young couple meandered across the pavement that ran alongside the park field, heading toward Jack. He sent a bitter cold wind in their faces, causing the woman to lose her scarf. The man pounced on it, grazing his leg as he tumbled to the floor. Jack watched with a scowl on his face. The young man held the scarf aloft from his less than dignified position as the woman hurried over, cooing in delight. They shared a passionate embrace and Jack huffed, glaring in envy. It hadn't bothered him. It really hadn't. Jamie could have got married that afternoon and Jack would have clapped happily after the service. But when fate kept throwing love in his face it began to get annoying.

The sky darkened considerably and it began to snow heavily. Within minutes the park was almost deserted as people scurried for cover. Only the most dedicated of joggers continued to circle the park in their robotic fashion. Just begging a slightly bad tempered Jack Frost to throw a few ice patches into their route.

Jack decided it was time to play a game of wits in which he used all of his powers, fruitlessly he might add, to try and push the joggers into breaking their run. He raised his staff, propping it up slightly on his lap and began orchestrating the wind with a finesse of an expert. The jogger would duck, the wind would swoop, the jogger would change tact, running back from whence he'd came with the wind, and the wind would switch too. It was an elaborate dance of spite of Jack's part, but it was only when the poor man began running head on into a very strong headwind did Jack realise how dedicated he was.

He began pondering how to dump a shed load of snow on the guy, just to see if that would stop him, when another idiotic jogger joined him. I mean, what the hell!? The very essence of winter, the epitome of cold weather, the master of snow days was throwing everything short of a blizzard at this damned park and someone else decides to go for a run? It was just embarrassing.

Jack grabbed his staff and jumped into a predator crouch on his bench. He watched the two joggers avidly and smirked a teeny bit. They were at the furthest point on the park running loop, almost pinpricks on the horizon. It was totally unfair that their movements should be so fluid. No jogger should be at ease in these conditions. Perhaps they were professionals.

Well, it seemed a challenge had been issued. He raised his staff and summoned the North Wind. Then he flung it at them.

A small part of Jack's mind knew that what he was doing was bad, doubly so when the Wind hit the two runners with the force of a tsunami wave. They were both lifted several metres into the air and shot back across the snow. At least that's what it looked like from his point of view. One of the blobs, resembling Mr Ninja-Sports Freak, slowly shook himself off and threw his hands up in the air before storming off towards the park exit. That left only one possible account of murder.

He peered into the distance for the second jogger. There was a body bundle on the ground, a very still body bundle. Jack panicked, eyes widening in shock. Shit, crap, bugger, shit! He launched himself at the jogger, propelling through the air in a blur of blue and silver. He arrived moments later in a flurry of snow, the winds had died down as soon as he realised that the guy wasn't getting back up. He was on his back, groaning softly. Jack dropped his staff and knelt beside him, oh bugger, what if he'd permanently injured an innocent jogger just because he'd been in a superhuman mood swing. The guilt would never leave him, never mind what North'd do.

"Aw shit, now nature hates me as well" moaned a small, muffled voice. Jack leaned down , shuffling forward a bit to catch the hastily mumbled words. He paled. That wasn't a guy's voice. Guy's did not sound like...that. Man, he'd hurt a _girl. _Somehow the situation just tripled in its unpleasantness. Jack protected kids, he was no woman beater. But he'd hurt a girl.

He did a quick double take. She seemed quite slim underneath all the layers of winter clothes, a kid? Nah, she was too tall to be a child. He guessed late teens, which was shit because it meant she wouldn't believe in him and Jack wouldn't be able to physically drag her ass to hospital. He sighed and tried to quell the apologies clamouring in his throat. She wouldn't be able to hear him. There was no point. But years of isolation and being ignored meant the filter between what he should and shouldn't say had worn very thin. She released a pitiful moan. It was more than enough to dissolve his pathetic filter.

"Oh jeese, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to, ya know, hurt anyone...well I did, 'cos really who the hell goes jogging in _this? _It's stupid and," he gestured around and dragged his fingers through his hair, she had made no inclination to show she'd heard. "And, well actually, no I wasn't calling you stupid or anything, just your actions. Aw hell, I'm not good at this. Just ya know, file all insurance claims under Jack Frost, although there might be a bit of a queue...I break things _a lot." _He looked down at her back and let his hand hover over her shoulder. He'd just pass straight through and it wasn't like a shoulder pat would have made everything better.

Well it might have.

All of a sudden she rolled onto her back and Jack's fingers brushed across her coat.

_PLEASE DON'T HATE ME! I know that was probably a rrrrrrrrrubbish chapter, and had a time skip, and was shorter than usual, and wasn't Pitch-y, but hey, I actually posted a chapter. I think that deserves a round of applause...*silence*...no? Shall I beg for mercy over my utter lack of posting?_

_I'M SOOOO SOORRRRY!_

_Happy? No, I didn't think you would be. So this is the point where I make up some lame-ass excuse about not posting but I really don't have one. Here's the massive awful bit...I had this written on my computer for AGES. Ahhhh, stop throwing shoes at me! I know, it's bad, what can I say?_

_Anywho may I just add, huge baskets of kittens and chocolate cake to cwsquared, Emma L and 911. I love you guys...so much. Here, have an extra kitten on me. _

_Also, big thanks to Ninja Kitty 101, hensonmakenzie, Caillet, Adamine Beifong and NeonYellowNinja (props to your name :D)Forgive me once again if you have reviewed, followed, favourited and thus far I have not mentioned you! Alert me and I shall rectify this immediately!_

_OH. On the Pitch front, yes, myself and the sexy goblin fellow are working on his chappie as we speak...type. _

_My, this was a lengthy one. XD _

_Blackvelvet97_

_Xx _


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